


Hail Mary

by Semjaza



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Dante is a Useless Boyfriend, Demonic Assault, Demonic Possession, Devil May Cry 3, Disturbing Themes, Eroticized Horror, Ex-Lovers to Weird Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Description, Hauntings, Horror, Horror Movie Bingo, Horror Tropes, Horror with Romance and Mysteries and Angst, Lady is a BAMF, Nightmares, No One Escapes the Temen-ni-Gru, Non-Consensual Touching, POV Alternating, Post-DMC3, Post-Devil May Cry 3, Previous Relationship Dante/Lady, Sexual Assault, Sexual Weirdness, paranormal activity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-12-18 14:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18251423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semjaza/pseuds/Semjaza
Summary: Lady is haunted by a demon she cannot see. Dante is, as usual, less than helpful. Will he be able to help her save herself, or will the huntress be condemned to a horrific fate? Not quite a crossover with Paranormal Activity, but definitely leaning in that direction.“Demons don’t play around, for the most part. They’re blunt. To the point. If it can’t run you down and tear you to bits, it’s probably not interested. A demon’s too impatient to, I dunno, fiddle with your shower taps. If it were that close, it would’ve just attacked you.”





	1. Prologue: I just want to kick you till you cry

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue and first five chapters of this fic were published on fanfiction.net from May 2011 and April 2015. This (AO3) version has a few editorial changes and added details that I think really improve the quality. I’ll continue to update on both sites as I finish new chapters. Please note the tags and warnings – much of this fic is eroticized horror. There are themes from Paranormal Activity and other horror films, used as a backdrop to explore the friendship/relationship between Dante and Lady. This is set between DMC 3 and DMC1, say about ten months after the end of DMC3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated M for language. Lyric snippet is from “I Don’t Want to Think About It” by Wild Strawberries (but if you wanted something spookier, I’d suggest “Don’t Go to Sleep Without Me” by The Creatures, haha).

 

  
_You rendered me conscious_  
_You cut my innocent face_  
_I’m not really bitter_  
_Then again I’m not amused_  
_I just want to kick you till you cry  
I_ _loved I really loved you_

 

She woke up drowning, flailing in the darkness of her room for a light and a gun. A thrashing arm knocked the lamp off the nightstand and onto the floor, the sound of glass splintering into a thousand pieces barely registering in her mind. Her breathing was too fast, but she was still half-asleep, running on auto-pilot and unable to focus enough to slow it down. Blood pounded in her ears as she fumbled in the pitch blackness, her bed-sheets entwined around her. Trembling fingers swept under her pillow, meeting cold steel and clutching at it desperately.

 

Even ten seconds out of a deep sleep, it wasn’t difficult to slide the safety off the M9 pistol and become utterly still, waiting. The silence of the room was oppressive, and she took a shuddering breath. Nude save for a thin pair of panties, Lady forcibly suppressed a shiver at the room’s suddenly chill temperature. Her hands, clasping the Beretta carefully, never wavered. She couldn’t see, but that wasn’t an impossible obstacle. She could kill in the dark as well as any of the hell-spawn she hunted.

 

A moment later, Lady’s mind woke up enough to catch up to her body’s reflexes. She realized she’d been dreaming, probably of something nightmarish, given the way her sheets were wound around her bare legs. Still, years of being attacked by hideous monsters lurking in dark rooms made her hesitate. She trusted her intuition, and had faith that sometimes her body and subconscious mind worked together to process information and plan a course of action before she’d even realized there was a problem. Dante teasingly called her a ninja, and although her reflexes sometimes appeared preternaturally fast, Lady knew it was only practice, and luck, that had kept her alive all these years.

 

She remained in place for another minute, counting her heartbeats to keep the time. Demons were impatient creatures, driven to slake their thirsts without hesitation or remorse, and would not be able to out-wait her. Figuring that she would have at least been drooled on by now if there was anything else in the room with her, Lady leaned forward slowly, leaving the pistol in her left hand and feeling for the nightstand with her right. Deft fingers found a drawer handle and softly tugged it open. Pushing aside pens, paper, and other debris without a rustle, she located a flashlight, and holding it carefully, eased back into her original position.

 

The click of the flashlight turning on was unsettlingly loud, and Lady stifled a flinch at the sound. She scanned the room swiftly, illuminating each corner in turn. No grinning hell-beasts to her left or right, no slime-covered half-rotten angels cleaving to the ceiling. And as her bed was little more than a box-spring and mattress placed directly on the floor, she was certain no horrors lurked beneath her, either. It was almost a little disappointing, really. 

 

Lady heaved a sigh, untangling her long, scarred legs as best she could. She snapped the M9’s safety back into place, turned off the flashlight, and tucked both under her pillow. Stretching the tension out of her aching back, she settled back down into the bed, tugging the sheets up over her. _Just some sort of fucked up dream that bled over into wakefulness… A waste of time._ Lady relaxed swiftly, drifting down towards a deep slumber as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  

She was nearly there, almost completely enveloped in the languid ocean of sleep, when the glass on the floor moved. It was a subtle, tingling sound, as though a piece of the lamp had cracked, yet had hesitated to fall apart until this very instant. Or if a draft had caught a sliver poised to fall and pushed it over the edge. Lady tensed immediately, caught her breath and held it, waiting.

 

Nothing. The room was quiet, devoid of sound. Lady silently mocked herself for being such a goddamn baby, and fell asleep.

 

*

 

The morning sun seeping through the blinds was hellishly bright, and Lady winced and dragged a hand over her face. She sat up and surveyed her room, her mismatched eyes drifting over the soft green paint and simple furniture. Stark, Zen Buddhist artwork adorned each wall, complementing her minimalist style. It would’ve made for a picture of serenity, had it not been for the shell-casings and spare ammunition that littered every available surface, and the bloodied clothing and body armour tossed over the back of a chair. Leather-bound books spilled off her shelves and onto her desk and floor. She’d never complained about Dante’s messy lifestyle, during the months she’d lived at the Devil May Cry office. She knew what she was like. In that way, at least, they were well matched.

 

The remains of her lamp still glittered on the floor, and Lady scowled, reaching for her combat boots. _Jumping at nothing. Dante will get a good laugh over this._ She laced on the footwear and trudged through the glass to the bathroom, gazing wearily at her reflection.

 

Constant activity, usually in the form of gruesome slaughter, kept her lean. She wasn’t tall, but she liked her long legs and graceful curves. Her scars had long since ceased to bother her, and she considered them a natural hazard of her chosen profession. Lady took a moment to tease a knot from her dark, glossy bangs, noticing for the first time four angry red scratches across her clavicle. It almost looked as though someone had dragged their fingernails over her flesh, raising welts in their wake. _Must’ve scratched myself when I was rolling around last night. That’s a piss-off._  

 

Sighing softly, Lady kicked off her boots and stepped out of her panties, walking leisurely towards the glass shower stall. She paused at the sink to offer water to a half-dead houseplant that sat on the countertop, wondering why she bothered trying to keep it alive. Lady gave it a week, tops, before it ended up in the compost where its six predecessors had met their ends. She failed at domesticity, but she could hit a thrown penny with a pistol at two-hundred-fifty yards, and that was all that mattered.

 

Lady climbed into the shower and started the water running. It was hot nearly instantaneously, and she stepped into the stream. She relaxed as the soothing liquid cascaded down her body, flowing in rivulets along her scars. Steam, scented with a darkly floral soap, filled the small room and fogged the glass of the stall. Lady was rinsing the last of her shampoo from her hair when the water went icy, shockingly cold.

 

“Goddamnit,” she hissed, reaching down to turn off the taps. With a screech, they twisted in her hands, shutting down the water. Lady shoved at the glass door, only to have it refuse to open. _There’s no fucking way I’m getting stuck in my shower._ She applied more pressure carefully, not wanting to damage the glass and end up having to replace it. She would, eventually, like her damage deposit back. She jiggled the door again. It declined to move. Lady resisted the urge to simply put her fists through it, and paused to consider the situation. The door must’ve warped in its frame, or something.

 

She slid her fingers over the glass carefully, checking the seals and edges for any changes. The door was still fogged from the steam, and there were fresh handprints on the glass that did not belong to her. Lady felt a jolt of adrenaline streak down her spine. _The hell?_ What would’ve sent many others into fits of terrified crying merely piqued Lady’s interest. She’d only passed up one fight in her life, and then not by choice. The prints were puzzling, though. They were clearly fresh, but one swipe of an elegant hand confirmed that they on the inside of the glass. With her. 

 

 _Well. This one’s new._ A quick glance around the shower stall, floor to ceiling, revealed nothing but pale tile surrounding her. Lady twisted her hair in her hands to wring it out, calculating her next move. She was turning to try the door again when the pipes gurgled, and scalding hot water shot from the shower, dousing her before she could crouch out of the stream.

 

“Motherfucker,” she winced, fumbling with the taps which were, to all appearances, still turned off all the way. The metal was soon too hot to touch without raising blisters on her already calloused fingers, and it was becoming uncomfortably warm inside the stall. Lady inhaled slowly, steam threatening to sear her throat. Stray drops of nearly boiling water flicked onto her pale skin, and Lady decided she’d had enough of this game.

 

She drew back her fist to hit the glass, wondering if she’d be able to put enough weight into the punch for it to be effective. Dropping her shoulder into it would leave her neck too vulnerable, and as her job demanded mobility, risking a kick was out of the question. Before she could smash the glass, the pipes rattled again, the flow of water stopping abruptly. Lady immediately tried the door, and it slid open easily at her touch.

 

All sense of relaxation having long since fled, Lady hastily towelled herself dry. She didn’t scare easily, and she wasn’t afraid now. Demons occasionally tried to follow her home, but she’d always blown their brains out before they could catch her. It was intensely irritating to be toyed with, she mused, yanking a comb through her dark hair with a little too much force. _But maybe it wasn’t a demon at all. I could just be over-reacting. The door might’ve just stuck on its own, and this is an old building, with old pipes. I’m making something out of nothing._   

 

Deciding her shower escapade was the result of an over-tired mind and bad plumbing, Lady sauntered back to inspect the glass door. She could not find any prints on it but her own, and satisfied in her theory, she went to get dressed for work. It felt like a grenade belt kind of day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love feedback, even on old stuff like this. Please let me know what you think. I’ve cleaned up some of the writing and added in some details that I think will clarify the story going forward. First set of edited chapters will be up this week.


	2. The precious creases of her hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for language and sexual weirdness. Lyric snippet is from “Careful” by Wild Strawberries.

 

 

_She don’t really love you_  
_She don’t understand  
_ _What she’s got between the precious creases of her hands_

 

The touch was feather-light, as though a gossamer thread of spider’s silk had drifted across the room and brushed against her bare skin. Lady dozed on, caught between sleep and wakefulness, dragged under by sheer physical and mental exhaustion. She fought it, a bit; she had plans for this evening, contacts to meet and information to research. But she’d been on her feet all day, chasing a skeletal creature through what must have been every dark alley in the entire goddamn city, and it had been easy to sit on her sofa afterwards, relaxed from her shower and wrapped in a towel.

 

She hadn’t been sleeping well lately, but then she’d only had this apartment for a few months now, and unlike Dante, she needed time to adjust to new places. The building had its quirks; sometimes doors stuck in their frames and refused to open, other times they insisted on opening when there was no breeze or draft to push them. She’d had no further episodes with her shower stall, although her landlord swore on his life that he’d checked the pipes and found nothing amiss.

 

Lady sighed and stretched languidly, unable to open her eyes or focus her thoughts. She wasn’t afraid of an old building’s strangeness, and even if it did have a malevolent ghost or two, which she doubted, it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She drifted further towards sleep, her mind’s half-hearted protests unable to coalesce into coherent thought. The room grew slightly colder, and Lady shuffled down deeper into the couch cushions, her exposed flesh chilled by the draft.

 

The second touch was as soft as the first, barely registering in Lady’s subconscious. Smoother than a breath of air, gentler than an exhalation; it was more the idea of a caress than a caress itself. The slightest, almost imperceptible change in pressure and temperature against her pale skin produced a shiver, and Lady murmured drowsily, almost completely enveloped in slumber. What might have been fingertips skimmed over her leg, stroking the side of her knee, sliding up her exposed thigh to trace her scars.

 

Lady’s eyes fluttered, sightless, as weariness defeated her. She slid into a hazy, dusky dream, her head lolling limply against the arm of the couch. The touches began again, starting at her ankles and slowly stroking up her calves, insinuating themselves into her dreamscape as gently as a lover. A tongue brushed behind the crook of her knee, and in her dream Lady gave a pleased gasp. It moved further up her legs, slick searing heat caressing her skin and flooding her senses.

 

Aroused, Lady stirred in her sleep, lost in the reverie. She felt a warm breath exhaled slowly against her flesh, ghosting over her inner thighs. A sigh escaped her lips as she felt the flick of a tongue against her clit, the noise turning into a groan as the wet muscle thrust into her. It was followed by the press of teeth, and Lady hummed contentedly before the thought registered in her dreaming mind. _Sharp. Like needles. The teeth are sharp. Wha-?_

 

Her body jerked as she forced herself to wakefulness, the faint blush of arousal colouring her face and chest. Lady sat up blearily, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, suddenly cold. _What the fuck was that about?_ She reached to turn on the lamp on the end-table, swinging her legs over the edge of the sofa, and startling as the soft glow illuminated the room. Angry red scratches marred her skin from hip to ankle. Her towel lay crumpled on the floor six feet away.

 

*

 

“So, you think there’s something here with you?”

 

Dante sat in her cramped kitchen, perched on a barstool and looking utterly massive in the small space. He rested his elbows on the countertop, hunched under the low-hanging lights. His scarlet trench coat pooled around him, maybe a bit too warm for the weather yet, but still useful for concealing illegally-modified firearms. Dante yawned and stretched, appraising her with frosty eyes, probably half-miffed about being woken from his nap by her phone-call.

 

Lady turned to rummage through her fridge in search of alcohol. She didn’t look at Dante, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not sure. There’ve been incidents, but, it’s like…” she stopped. “I can explain them away, if I try. Technically, nothing’s happened that couldn’t be explained rationally. It’s an old building, and I have nightmares sometimes, and maybe I scratched myself somehow.” Lady paused to examine her nails, cut nearly to the quick. “I’m probably just spooking myself,” she admitted, straightening up in time to catch Dante staring at her ass.

 

Warning him off with a dark look, she held up her findings. “Carlsberg or Red Stripe? That’s all I have for beer. Might be a bottle of Riesling around, I can’t remember if I drank it.”

 

“I hate wine,” Dante muttered, taking the proffered beer. Lady kicked the fridge shut, sending a flurry of paper take-out menus and gym hours to the floor. She left them where they fell and took the stool beside Dante, resting her bare feet against the rungs of his seat. He flicked a sidelong glance towards her, as though he was surprised she’d gotten so close to him. She’d been the one who’d wanted space, after all.

 

Ten months ago, when they’d first crossed paths, she couldn’t have imagined how they’d ended up. They were an odd partnership, polar opposites in some ways, but perfectly compatible, she figured, in others. When it came to sex and violence, they were better matched than most. And she wasn’t afraid of him, not one bit, despite the fact that he always seemed to expect her to be. Lady wasn’t made of glass, and Dante didn’t _always_ treat her like a delicate flower. He did it just often enough to be annoying.

 

“It’s probably nothing,” Dante mused, bringing Lady’s thoughts back to the situation at hand. “Demons don’t play around, for the most part. They’re blunt. To the point. If it can’t run you down and tear you to bits, it’s probably not interested. A demon’s too impatient to, I dunno, fiddle with your shower taps. If it were that close, it would’ve just attacked you.”

 

“That’s what I figured. And I don’t think I’m haunted, so don’t give me that look,” Lady punctuated her statement with a kick at Dante’s shin, and watched him try to stop smirking at her. She took a sip of her beer, her mismatched eyes meeting Dante’s playful ones. _Great. Now he looks mischievous. I’m going to have to kick his ass to get him to leave._ “I’m probably just overtired. I chased that skeleton-thing around the whole fucking city. It was a bitch to kill once I cornered it, too.”

 

“So, what happened tonight then?” Dante asked softly, one hand dropping down to rest on Lady’s knee, calloused fingers drifting over her bare skin. When Lady didn’t immediately swat him, he left it there. 

 

Lady took a gulp of beer before answering. “I got home, took a shower-”

 

“By yourself, no demons?”

 

“Shut-up, asshole.” Another kick. “I was tired, so afterwards I sat down on the sofa for a minute. Maybe stretched out for a nap. You know how it is when you’re not really awake or asleep? Well, I kind of thought something was touching me, but I couldn’t wake up enough to do anything about it. And then I think I was dreaming for a while, I don’t know. But when I woke up my towel was halfway across the room and there were scratches all over my legs.”

 

“Weird,” Dante mumbled, his pale eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Lady’s skin. “They’re gone now, though.” His thumb traced over the scar on her thigh, brushing against the hem of her skirt, and Lady stifled a gasp. She twisted away abruptly and stood, setting her drink aside.

 

“They were there when I woke up, and they didn’t look like the type of scratch that just fades in an hour, Dante.” Lady began picking the scraps of paper off the floor, reorganizing them based on which martial art the dojos and gyms advertised, and whether the take-outs delivered for free. She didn’t look at Dante, but he took the hint anyway.

 

“I’ll look around before I go, okay?” Dante finished his beer and stood, careful not to damage anything in Lady’s tiny kitchen. While the décor was a strange mixture of red teacups and bullet-casings, he had a pretty good idea that she’d be pissed if he broke so much as a light-bulb in her new place. He was glad to see that the apartment looked lived in, though, and that Lady had taken the time to give it a few personal touches. A small statue of the goddess Kali, Destroyer of Demons, leered from its place above the coffeepot. An old Colt .38 Special hung on the wall beside it. Dante nodded his approval and turned to face Lady. 

 

“Yeah, if you would, just…” Lady shrugged, looking half-embarrassed. She led him through the modest apartment, moving with a dancer’s grace. Dante sauntered after her, shuffling sideways to keep his shoulders from bumping the walls in the narrow hallway. He inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of incense and gun oil and some decidedly female shampoo, but little else.

 

“There’s nothing here, babe. Not a trace of demons ‘cept for the dried blood in your laundry and maybe a touch of something in those old books over there. But nothing that could do anything to you.”

 

Lady nodded at that, looking as though her thoughts were far away. She stood barefoot in her bedroom, studying a crimson stain on a piece of body armour, seemingly oblivious to everything around her. Dante cleared his throat, and saw her startle for an instant before she repressed it.

 

“You’re probably just tired,” he suggested, almost feeling awkward. He sat down on her bed to provoke her, but Lady just rolled her eyes and tossed the piece of Kevlar at him.

 

“I’m overworked,” she declared, stalking back towards him, her usual attitude reappearing. Dante was almost relieved to see it, for a moment. Lady glared at him, folding her arms over her breasts. “If you’d get up off your ass and help out more, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

 

“If you stopped doing extra jobs for free, you’d be better off. You’d be surprised what people can put up with if they know they’ll have to pay to get rid of it.” Dante stretched out, flopping back onto Lady’s sheets and hearing the box-spring creak under his weight.

 

“I’ll get them all, eventually,” Lady stated matter-of-factly, only a hint of venom in her voice. She was staring at a Zen painting, but Dante doubted it was soothing her. 

 

“There’ll always be more demons,” Dante yawned, closing his eyes. “Devils too. But there’s nothing here as far as I can tell.”

 

“Yeah, you’re such a great help. Get the fuck off my bed,” Lady snarled dryly. When Dante opened one eye in response, she flashed him a grin so quickly he might’ve imagined it.

 

“Fine.” He rolled to his feet. “Ingrate.”

 

Lady trailed him back to the kitchen, and he weighed his chances of getting gutted with a kitchen knife if he kissed her goodbye. Dante decided against it; she could be pissed off for months if he overstepped his boundaries, and he didn’t know where he stood with her half the time anyway. Any display of protectiveness on his part made her furious, and given that knowledge, he couldn’t figure out why she’d called him at all.

 

He stopped halfway out the door, turning to look at Lady. She appeared, as always, tiny and fragile and utterly defenseless, and he knew, unequivocally, that she’d beat him bloody if he ever told her that.

 

“’Night, Lady. Call if you need anything.” It was all he could say, really.

 

She nodded once, curtly, and then he closed the door and was gone. Despite the warm glow cast by her ragtag collection of lamps, the apartment turned gloomy the moment Dante stepped out of it. The shadows cast around the small assemblage of rooms seemed strangely oppressive, and the temperature suddenly felt ten degrees colder. Lady shivered involuntarily and went to check the thermostat.

 

“Just a fuckin’ baby. I need a drink.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback is much appreciated. :)


	3. Stick a knife inside me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for language, demonic assault, and sexual weirdness. Lyric snippet is from “Love Interruption” by Jack White. Further lyrics are from Robert Johnson’s “Me and the Devil Blues.” Bits of this chapter were inspired by “Cat People” (1982) and “The Faculty” (1998), kind of but not really, haha.

 

_I want love to roll me over slowly_  
_Stick a knife inside me and twist it all around_  
_I want love to grab my fingers gently  
_ _Slam them in the doorway, put my face into the ground._

 

The chill in the apartment was irritating, and Lady decided she’d had enough of it. It was too late to meet any of her contacts now; she’d call them in the morning and rearrange her appointments. They were mostly demonologists and retired priests anyway; it wasn’t as though their schedules were overly crowded. The special collections of the local library closed in five minutes, so there was little point in heading out to do some research. The librarians would probably breathe easier without a demanding young woman sending them on random searches through the dusty theological archives, anyway.

 

Lady spent another moment scowling at the thermostat before heading to her room and grabbing her gym-bag. She wouldn’t bother with a workout after her exhausting chase today, but a swim would be nice. _And maybe even relaxing._ Dante’s words about her work had made her think; any extra stress in her life would make this demonic haunting, or whatever it was, even worse. _Of course, it wouldn’t hurt him to help out more. Lazy ass._

Lady locked the door behind her and took the stairs two at a time, pausing at the superintendent’s office on her way out. She scrawled a request for him to check the heating system in her apartment on the message board, and spent a moment searching the notes to see if anyone else in the building had any complaints. _Nope. Guess I’m the only one feeling persecuted by otherworldly enemies. Isn’t that just my luck?_ Shaking her head in chagrin, she left the crumbling building and headed out into the night.

 

The nearest pool was attached to a small boxing club, run by a middle-aged Russian immigrant named Bulgakov. He seemed to have a soft spot for Lady, claiming that her fiery spirit and quick temper reminded him of his late wife. The club was rundown but spotlessly clean, and Lady nodded to the young clerk on duty as she made her way inside.

 

“You’ve got the whole place to yourself tonight. Just let me know when you’re done so I can lock up.” The girl offered a small smile and immediately returned to her book.

 

“Sure. I’m just going to swim a few laps.” Lady walked swiftly down a few dark corridors, idly wondering if money was really so tight that Bulgakov was keeping the lights off deliberately. She stepped into the women’s changing room and snapped on the light-switch, waiting for the fluorescent bulbs to stop sputtering before locking the door behind her. _What’s gotten in to you now? Afraid of the dark?_ Giving in to her sudden paranoia, Lady scanned the room, even checking that the bathroom stalls were empty before undressing.

 

Her sense of unease expanded into the feeling that she was being watched, and Lady fumbled out of her clothes, wishing she’d brought a gun with her. She did have a knife in her purse, she consoled herself, but it didn’t give her the same sense of security that having a Glock’s trigger under her finger provided. Rolling her eyes at her childish behaviour, Lady tugged on her bikini bottoms and tied her top behind her back. Towel in hand, she headed for the door and unlocked it.

 

It refused to open. Lady checked the deadbolt, making sure nothing was stuck. She gave it a kick, for good measure.

 

“No fucking way,” she growled under her breath, her skin prickling as the room got colder. She kicked the door again, putting all her weight into it, and nearly fell forward when it slammed open with a loud bang. _I’m going to get asked to leave if I have to smash my way through every goddamn door._

 

Lady stalked angrily through the dimly-lit hallway and out into the poolroom. The overhead lights, never bright, flickered ominously as she stepped across the tile floor. She glared at them, folding her arms across her chest and assessing the situation. If there really was something after her, it wasn’t like anything she’d ever encountered before. Being scratched while dozing was disgusting and creepy, but not exactly fear-inducing; it could’ve just been the ragged edges of her own bitten nails. And in the Temen-ni-Gru, Lady had seen all of Hell splayed open before her. By comparison, cold rooms and sticking doors were so minor as to be amateur.

 

_This is not relaxing._ Lady shoved her qualms aside and dropped her towel to the pool-deck. _I’m over-worked, and jumping at shadows. Dante’s gonna laugh if he finds out I got too spooked to go swimming._ Brushing her dark hair out of her eyes, Lady strode to the water’s edge and dove in. The water was almost as cold as the room. Bulgakov claimed it was heated, but Lady had her doubts about that. Her body adjusted swiftly though, and she was on her fourth lap when the main set of lights sputtered out.

 

Treading water in the middle of the pool, Lady stared into the gloom, trying to see if the clerk was nearby. It wasn’t too dark to continue swimming, but her recent luck with lights and lamps and doors made her uneasy. She exhaled slowly, her warm breath becoming visible as the temperature dropped. The water seemed to get colder too, and Lady huffed in frustration. _It’s like I’m being cursed with petty inconveniences, or something._

 

She struck out for the far edge of the pool, heading for the ladder. She hadn’t swum more than a metre when something brushed against her leg. The touch was light, as though she’d simply grazed another swimmer in passing, or if something had tried to catch her, but she’d just escaped its grasp. The water was nearly black in the dim light, and Lady didn’t bother trying to look into its depths. Adrenaline propelled her nearly to the ladder before she got a hold of herself.

 

_Really, now. Come on. There’s jets in the pool, you idiot. Stop scaring yourself._ Lady forced herself to turn and gaze back over the water. The only currents were those left in her wake. She sighed, shaking her head, and wiped the chlorine from her mismatched eyes. Warmth fluttered against her breasts, and Lady’s heart leapt again. She forced herself backwards until the pool’s edge pressed hard against her spine, but she couldn’t escape the sensation. It felt like a hot mouth against her nipple, teasing her through the thin fabric of her swimsuit. Lady gasped for breath, utterly furious, and flailed for the safety of the ladder.

 

Something entwined itself around her legs and dragged her under.

 

*

 

_Bury my body_  
_down by the highway-side_  
 _so my old evil spirit_  
 _can get a Greyhound bus and ride…_

 

The blues bar stank of stale beer and cigarette smoke, but Dante found that after a couple shots of whiskey, he didn’t much care. He glared at his drink, holding the tumbler so that his face was reflected in the amber liquid. Just being around Lady left Dante uneasy these days. They weren’t as close as they’d once been, and how they’d gone from lovers to strictly business associates was beyond him. He didn’t know how he’d managed to screw up that badly, but apparently he had, and there it was.

 

It took a fair bit of control to keep from crushing the glass in his hand, and he sighed as he knocked back the last of the alcohol. He didn’t know what to do about Lady. He didn’t even know where to begin.

 

If Dante had been looking for a best friend, he wouldn’t have picked an angry bitch with a rocket-launcher and a grudge. If he’d been after a business partner, he wouldn’t have teamed up with a poker-faced pool-hall hustler who would strip away his hard-earned cash before he could spend it. And if he’d been searching for a lover, the kind that stayed for more than just one night, he certainly wouldn’t have chased after a girl that didn’t seem to give a fuck whether she saw him once a week or once a month.

 

Lady was all of these things. _All_ of them. And he was beginning to wonder just why she bothered being any of them for him. She’d always seemed to make a point of showing him that she didn’t need him, that it was he who needed her, and that their relationship was simply a series of random experiences that had occurred while they were near each other. Like it was her own bad luck that had gotten them mixed up together; not some great cosmic fate, just shitty coincidence.

 

He’d known Lady for ten months now, and he still didn’t know much about her. Granted, as far as people knowing things about Lady went, he was probably the resident expert on the subject, but _still_. It was difficult to predict just what she might be thinking about, and if he asked her why she did something, she’d roll her eyes and demand to know why anyone did anything. Lady refused to explain herself to such an extent that Dante felt it went beyond mere stubbornness and into some sort of pathological self-defence mechanism, or something.

 

He threw a handful of crumpled bills onto the sticky countertop and left the bar without a word. His office was only a few blocks away, and he took his time, still lost in thought. He’d gotten used to being by himself again; it was his usual state of affairs, and he could deal with it. He and Lady had lived together for a few months after the fall of the Temen-ni-Gru, but that had been mostly because it was easier to sleep knowing that someone was nearby to shake you awake when you started screaming.

 

And there had been a lot of screaming in the beginning, Dante wouldn’t deny it. There were some things you just couldn’t un-see, some wounds that just wouldn’t close, let alone scar over. He could barely even remember that first month. His memories were a smear of darkness and ashes and blood, the rush of the hunt, and the sick realization that the remaining demons were infinite in number, _legion_ even, and they all knew where he lived. It had taken some getting used to, but he was adaptable. He’d managed.

 

Then Lady had left him, climbing out of his bed without so much as a goodbye. At first he’d thought she was tired of the incessant violence, like maybe she’d find some peace if she wasn’t always around him, covered in gore. After all, it wasn’t her fight anymore; she’d done what she’d had to do, and if she wanted a normal life, she only needed to claim it. He couldn’t understand why she hadn’t, actually, and maybe that was the real problem.

 

Dante reached the darkened office and shoved the doors open with unwarranted viciousness. “I have rotten luck with women,” he announced to the emptiness, his presence doing little to disrupt the quiet gloom within. When the phone rang, he almost didn’t bother answering.

 

*

 

“I’m calling an ambulance. Just wait here, don’t try to get up.” The clerk was frantic, her hands clutching desperately at Lady’s bare shoulders. Lady stared at the girl, what was her name? Margaret? Margarita? Something like that. She shook her head numbly, wiping water off her nose and noting that her fingers came away bloody.

 

“I’m fine,” she muttered brusquely, throat aching, lungs burning. “I’ve had a long day. Probably just slipped and hit my head or something.”

 

The girl cursed, looking as though she wanted to shake some sense into Lady. “You were on the bottom of the pool. The lights were off. I pulled you out and you weren’t breathing. I mean, you can’t be alright.” She rose to her feet, her clothes soaking wet, and some part of Lady’s mind acknowledged that she must have dove in after her without the slightest hesitation.

 

“I’m okay. Really,” Lady forced a smile. “Thanks for getting me out.”

 

The clerk eyed Lady dubiously, then picked up Lady’s discarded towel and draped it over her. “Are you sure? I can drive you to the hospital. It’s no bother. Sometimes I have to drive the guys over if a fight goes wrong, or someone gets knocked out. Really, I can’t just let you walk out of here. You were… I mean, I thought you’d drowned. And your swimsuit… Did someone attack you? Was there anyone else here?”

 

The girl babbled on, and Lady mostly tuned her out. She felt like she’d gone through a wringer, but that was hardly a new sensation. _I was swimming, wasn’t I? And then what?_ She glared hard at the pool, the chlorinated water pale and unthreatening under the florescent lights. Her eyes burned from exposure to the chemicals, and Lady massaged her temples, trying to clear her head. When the dizziness had subsided, she hauled herself to her feet, reluctantly allowing the clerk to help her.

 

“I don’t need a drive. I’ll be alright, really.” Lady dried her face with the towel, knowing she looked like hell. _Don’t be rude. The kid probably just saved your life._ “It’s been a rough day, and I shouldn’t have been swimming alone. I’m just gonna have a quick shower, and then I’ll be on my way.” Lady tried to smile again, although the attempt resembled a rictus grin, if the clerk’s expression was anything to go by.

 

“You’re awfully calm for someone who just almost drowned. At least let me call someone to come get you. I don’t think you should be left alone. And I’ll go to the changing rooms with you. I’m a little creeped out myself.” Margaret or Margarita gave her a sheepish look, then gripped Lady’s arm firmly as they walked away from the pool. “I mean, are you sure you didn’t see anyone else in here?”

 

“No, it was just me. Same as you said when I came in; that I had the whole place to myself. Why?”

 

The girl looked uncomfortable, almost like she might’ve burst into tears. “Well, your bikini’s all ripped. Was it like that before? I didn’t want to say anything, in case.” She took a gulping breath and continued hurriedly. “And I heard some noises, like loud bangs, and heavy footsteps, like someone was stomping around in that end of the gym. That’s actually why I came to check on you, and then when I turned on the lights and-” the clerk stopped abruptly, biting her lip. “But are you okay?”

 

Lady lifted her towel and peered at herself wearily. She was scratched and bruised from throat to ankle, and her swimsuit hung off her lean frame in tatters. She composed her face to hide her reaction, not wanting to scare the girl.

 

“I’m fine,” she heard herself repeating for the utmost time. “But there is someone you can call for me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I have the theme from “Ghostbusters” stuck in my head… Any comments or feedback on this is much appreciated.


	4. Tearing you asunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for language, demonic assault and sexual weirdness. Lyrics snippet is from Placebo’s “Running up That Hill.”

 

_You don’t wanna hurt me_  
_But see how deep the bullet lies_  
_Unaware that I’m tearing you asunder_  
_There’s a thunder in our hearts, baby_  
_So much hate for the ones we love?  
_ _Tell me, we both matter, don’t we?_

  

Something was breathing on her.

 

Something was right beside her, in the narrow shower stall of Bulgakov’s gym, underneath the warm cascade of water. Lady couldn’t see it, but her skin crawled at the thought of it. She suppressed a shiver as each exhalation, light and soft as a span of silk, met her flesh. A puff of air, barely noticeable at all, met her clavicle and ghosted downwards over her breasts. Her nipples tightened uncomfortably, and she pretended not to notice, tried to suppress the shot of adrenaline that spiked into her veins. _Don’t feed it._

 

Lady lifted her hands slowly, rinsing the last of the chlorine out of her hair, and tried to think. It was difficult; she was, admittedly, creeped the fuck out. She knew the young clerk was right on the other side of the door, waiting with a towel and her clothes. The urge to protect the girl forced Lady to control herself, even as every instinct she had was screaming at her to run for it, to panic and flee blindly as far as she could go. It wasn’t a feeling she usually experienced; around demons, rage and contempt usually dulled her to anything other than a calculated assessment of the amount of danger she was in, and how to gain the quickest, most efficient kill.

 

Lady closed her eyes, determined to stay calm, wondering if the demon, or whatever it was, knew that she knew it was there. It must’ve stayed after attacking her in the pool, following along as she and the clerk contacted Dante, and then headed to the showers. Everything about this was confusing, and that pissed Lady off. It could’ve killed her, drowned her at the bottom of a cold pool in a shabby gym. Instead, it had waited until the lack of oxygen drove her unconscious and then scratched and bruised and bit at her. Not that anyone would’ve noticed now; Lady’s skin was smooth and unblemished save for her old scars once more. _There’s no proof of an attack except for my word and that of a panic-stricken girl. Like it doesn’t want anyone to believe me…_

A chill like a draft of winter air washed over her, displacing the steam of the shower with a cloying coldness that forced a gasp out of her. She shivered involuntarily, and something breathed heavily against her throat, as though it meant to nestle its face, if it had one, into the crook of her shoulder like a lover would. Disgust curled in her belly, and Lady’s hands clenched into fists.

 

“Get out of here,” she growled, softly so the clerk wouldn’t hear. There was no response for a moment, no sound but the flow of water from the shower. The rhythm of the breathing stopped, and for a long moment Lady felt nothing. She wasn’t naïve enough to relax; her nerves still hummed with electricity, and her spine felt lined with ice despite the warmth of the water. _What if it decides to toss you around like a ragdoll? What are you going to do to fight it then?_ She caught herself wishing for Dante’s presence, however inane, and immediately stopped herself. _You are_ not _depending on him for anything. Deal with this yourself._  

 

The touch, at first, was so light Lady almost didn’t notice it despite her heightened state of awareness. A little pressure at her throat, less perceptible than the breathing had been, increased a second later into the full sensation of sharp teeth. Lady froze, torn between the urge to bolt for the door and the fear that the pinpricks of pressure would close on her flesh, crushing her windpipe before she could get away.

 

Lady stood rigid, chin lifted slightly, knowing that this threat was a display of power. Her breathing escaped her control for an instant, her chest heaving as she gulped in a lungful of air before she could stop herself. Her throat felt tight, squeezed, as though she’d taken a direct hit to her trachea. She swallowed, enraged, and felt the teeth tighten slightly, their tips sharp as needlepoints. Something icy brushed over her breasts and down across her belly, slick and cold enough to feel like a burn. _This thing is so fucking dead._

 

A second later the sensations were gone and the temperature normal, and Lady scrabbled at the lock on the stall without bothering to turn off the taps. She heard the clerk shriek, and a loud bang echoed through the room as though a water pipe had exploded overhead. Lady nearly fell over the girl, who clutched at her in near hysterics, sobbing.

 

“Didn’t you hear me? I was yelling for the past five minutes, and I hit the door, and I was freaking out, and…” the clerk trailed off into nonsensical whimpering. “Why didn’t you answer me? All the shower stall doors were swaying open and slamming shut, like there was some sort of windstorm in here. Didn’t you hear it? What’s wrong with you!?”

 

*

 

Lady looked like she’d been chewed up and spit out. Her skin was pale to the point of being vaguely greenish, and one arm clutched the back of her chair as though it was the only thing holding her upright. Beside her, a young girl with Eastern-European-type cheekbones hovered anxiously. Both women exuded a sense of damp; their hair was wet, dripping onto their shoulders. Each held a towel, but neither seemed to be overly interested in using it. Dante watched them through the gym’s glass doors for a moment, trying to figure out just what was going on.

 

He’d admit to feeling the dread that had frosted his insides ever since the phone call. Lady was the toughest woman he’d ever met, but she was still human. Her thin flesh would open under a talon or blade like a hot knife through butter; her bones could shatter, splinter, take months to heal. He’d patched up her wounds before, stitched her skin back together, and he must’ve always looked nauseous while he did it because Lady would laugh at him, no matter how badly hurt she was. Dante was no stranger to gore, and had no problem practically bathing in blood if that was what it took to get the job done. But if it was _her_ blood, well. _That_ was different. The scent of her blood brought back unpleasant memories of Vergil, and Arkham, and Lady screaming in pain, bleeding out onto a labyrinthine-patterned floor with a knife through her thigh.

 

Lady’s head snapped up when he entered the room, looking both grim and slightly embarrassed. Her standard attire, a pleated dark grey skirt paired with a white blouse, clung to her curves as though she hadn’t toweled dry before dressing. The sides of her high mahogany-coloured boots gleamed with moisture. Dante strode towards them swiftly, realized halfway there that the clerk had backed away in fear, and stopped abruptly.

 

“Alright, Lady?” He asked, keeping his voice low. He didn’t move closer until he was sure the clerk wasn’t going to scream or bolt for the door. “What spooked her?” He nodded at the girl.

 

“It’s been a weird night,” Lady sighed. She turned to the clerk and motioned her nearer. “It’s okay. He’s the guy you called for me.”

 

Dante gave his most-charming and least-threatening smile and got a wary look in return. He decided to ignore the girl in favour of studying Lady, who still hadn’t moved from her hunched position on the desk chair. He weighed the possible risks of getting kicked in the chin, and then crouched down in front of her. Something had to be wrong. Lady did not just call him to pick her up. Ever.

 

“She insisted on calling someone to come get me. And then...” Lady’s voice was gravelly, and she coughed to clear it. “Things have been a little strange; maybe we should walk her to her car.” Lady’s expression reminded him of the time they’d slaughtered a dozen hell-prides in the basement of a preschool filled with youngsters. It was a “Let’s not scare the children” look that demanded quiet efficiency and subtle communications. Not Dante’s strong point, really.

 

“Can you walk?” he blurted. His initial relief at finding Lady alive and mostly okay was rapidly mixing with the whole mess of other emotions that warred in his head when she was around. _She wouldn’t have called if she didn’t need help, even if she didn’t really want it. You know that much._ Lady glared at him.

 

“Yeah. I’m tired, not crippled, for fuck’s sake. Let’s get out of here.” Lady hauled herself to her feet, staggered a bit, and warned Dante off with a look when he moved to assist her. She turned to address the girl.

 

“Do you need help locking up, Margarita?”

 

“No,” Margarita stammered, swallowing nervously. “No, everything’s done. I left a note about the showers.”

 

“But not about me?” Lady prompted.

 

“No. I- I won’t mention that. He won’t believe me as it is, anyway.”

 

“Good. Now, if you’ll show us where you parked, we’ll go with you to your car.” Lady squared her shoulders, looking nothing less than entirely business-like despite the way her boots squeaked on the linoleum floor. Dante, having watched the entire exchange thoughtfully, glanced sidelong at Lady. She shook her head with a miniscule gesture than anyone else would’ve missed, and he decided to save his questions. Lady might take pity on him later and explain herself. Ha. Right.

 

*

 

They were a block from Lady’s apartment when exhaustion caught up with her. She stumbled over a spill of gravel on the sidewalk, and Dante couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to catch her. He wound up with the full length of Lady’s petite frame pressed against him, damp and shivering, and decided that if he was going to be gutted for this, he might as well deserve it. He wrapped her into his trench coat, his arm locked around her tiny waist, and pretended not to hear the inevitable protest or feel the sharp elbow expertly jabbed into his solar plexus.

 

Once at her building, he relaxed his grip enough that she could fumble around and find her keys. He shoved the heavy door open for her, following her inside without waiting for an invitation. She seemed past caring at this point, anyway, and he shadowed her as she listlessly stomped up the six flights of stairs, driven on, he assumed, by sheer force of will. She let him into her apartment, locked the door behind them, and turned, arms crossed over her breasts, to face him.

 

“Something’s after me,” she stated simply, her mismatched eyes gauging his reaction. “And if you say anything about me being stressed out or working too hard, I’ll kick your ass right here.” She didn’t look well enough to be kicking anyone’s ass, let alone his, but he had enough sense not to argue.

 

“Okay,” Dante offered. It was all he had. He waited, but she didn’t continue. Instead, she spun on her toes and staggered towards her sofa, collapsing on it as though her legs simply could not hold her up any longer. Her dark hair was still damp and mussed, and Lady brushed it aside carelessly.

 

“Drowning’s a bitch,” she mumbled, her normally-clever fingers numbly unlacing her boots. Dante sat down beside her, not wanting to say anything because it would surely be the wrong thing. When she’d picked the knots in the laces apart, he reached down and tugged off her footwear for her. Lady’s bare legs were warm and smooth to the touch, and he left his hands on her as long as he thought he could get away with.

 

Lady glanced at him and brushed his hands away, looking as though she was halfway to delirious. She seemed engulfed in a fatigue that was slowly overtaking her will to fight it, and Dante couldn’t help but wonder what she’d meant about drowning. Lady fixed her gaze on the floor as she began speaking again. “Something attacked me at the pool. That’s what spooked the clerk. It was more than…” She stopped, biting her bottom lip pensively. “It’s gone beyond what can be explained away as just random occurrences. I mean, a few weird happenings around here are one thing, but this was definitely a manifestation of sorts.”

 

Dante raised one eyebrow, considering. “Are you sure, though? I mean, I only left about an hour ago. There was nothing here that could’ve harmed you. There’s still nothing here,” he gestured around the small room for emphasis, “that’s demonic. Believe me, if there was, I’d tell you. You know that. And demons leave a …residue, of sorts. A sign of their previous presence. And there’s nothing like that around you.”

 

Lady turned to regard him, her eyes unreadable. “It followed me to the pool, Dante. I tried to explain it away. I thought, maybe the water jets are acting funny, or maybe the heaters are busted, or maybe I am stressed, like you said, and imagining things. I thought up a half dozen reasonable explanations for the phenomena, and then it dragged me to the bottom of the pool anyway. I mean, fuck, I’m running out of non-demonic explanations here.” She stopped again, abruptly, a frown creasing her fine features, and Dante got the impression that there was a lot more to this, that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. _When does she, ever?_

 

Lady coughed raggedly enough to make Dante wince in sympathy, wondering how much water was still in her lungs. He didn’t offer to take her to the hospital.

 

Lady yawned, and moved suddenly, gripping the arm of the couch to haul herself to her feet. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” she began, looking as though she _did_ care, very much. “But if you wanted to make yourself useful…” She trailed off, and Dante stared at her dubiously, not quite believing what he was hearing. _Something’s got her spooked, that’s for sure._

 

“I’ll stay here tonight if you want, babe,” he offered quickly, figuring that he’d get _shot the fuck down_ and then sent on his way to do _research_ or whatever it was that Lady considered a worthwhile activity. He glanced back at her in time to see her watching him thoughtfully, her eyes indecipherable, her expression haggard. He wondered, for the umpteenth time, how he’d managed to have her and then lose her, and what kind of cruel god was laughing at him over that. _Although thinking that she’d ever really belonged to you at all was probably your first mistake._

 

Lady turned with the careless grace of an extremely exhausted professional dancer and headed towards the narrow hallway. “C’mon, then,” she tossed back at him. “I’m not sleeping on the couch again after last time. You’ll have to stay in here, with me.”

 

Dante waited for the snarky follow-up comment, one that would put him in his place and keep him at arm’s length, but nothing materialised. He toed off his boots and trailed after her, refusing to acknowledge the knot that was tightening inside his chest.

 

It hurt to be in bed with her without being able to touch her. It wasn’t even the sex he missed so much as the opportunity to curl up around her, let her sleep safely in his arms. She wouldn’t allow it anymore, and she wouldn’t tell him why. He could only offer guesses that were always incorrect, and that pissed her off, and seemed to reaffirm to her the rightness of her decision to stay away from him.  

 

“You’ve got a plan then?” he questioned, trying to ignore the fact that she’d undressed in front of him as though he didn’t exist, that she was right here beside him and yet somehow everything was still so wrong. The room was warm, the colour scheme soothing, and he couldn’t figure out why Lady looked so filled with dread.

 

“Yeah. I’m gonna sleep, and you’re gonna watch out for shit, or something.”

 

Dante smirked at that, but Lady wasn’t even looking at him. She curled up facing away from him, all nice curves and warm skin, easily within reach but still untouchable. He rustled around until he was comfortable, sitting up and putting his back to the wall so he could scan the room easily.

 

“Alright, Lady. Goodnight.” He sighed, trying to relax and not sound bitter.

 

“Don’t let it touch me,” she whispered, already more asleep than awake. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments or kudos! Much appreciated!


	5. She dreams in red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments or kudos - it's very much appreciated. This chapter rated E for nightmares and demonic weirdness. Initial lyrics are from “Better Man” by Pearl Jam, although a song for this chapter might be Emily Browning’s cover of “Sweet Dreams.”

 

_She lies and says she’s in love with him,_  
_Can’t find a better man_  
_She dreams in colour she dreams in red,  
_ _Can’t find a better man…_

Sleep fell over her like a blanket lined with lead, and Lady could not even lift her head to resist. It was less like normal slumber and more like being forcibly dragged to the bottom of a well. She knew she was dreaming, wasn’t she? She was asleep, in her bed; she could feel her body pressed against the mattress, the sheets draped over her. The room was fairly dark, the remnant light of a streetlamp shining in through the curtains but doing little to dispel the gloom. She couldn’t move, couldn’t feel herself breathing, but it seemed like her eyes were open. If she could just lift her head, she could turn and look at Dante. He’d still be there, even though she couldn’t hear him breathing, either. He was there beside her, right?

 

The room darkened, and she couldn’t see anything anymore, as though she’d been blindfolded. Weight settled over her chest and belly, pressing her onto her back and deeper into the mattress. A languid calm spread through her, her thoughts slow as poured honey. _…not right though… It likes it when I’m dreaming like this; it waits for me to fall asleep…_ The weight against her was warm and textured, and then there was a hot mouth moving over her breasts, working at her nipples in turn until they were so tight it hurt. Her body was aroused and heavy, sinking into the bed, but her mind was nagging at her, some part having escaped the spell of the dream. _Wake yourself up and stop this. There’s something wrong. It’ll bite you it’ll bite you wake up wake up wake up-_

 

“Lady? Lady, wake up for a sec.” Lady recognized the worry in Dante’s voice even before she was fully awake. Her lungs hurt as she gasped for breath, and she was achingly cold despite the heat that had settled between her legs. She dragged the sheets with her as she sat up, turning to face Dante.

 

He was studying her, his eyes eerily reflective in the dim light. It reminded her suddenly of a school camping trip, years and years ago, when one night she’d shined her flashlight into the darkness of the forest and had known the multitudes of creatures looking back. It hadn’t scared her then. Nothing had.

 

Dante coughed to get her attention. “I wasn’t sure if you were breathing for a second there. You okay?”

 

Lady closed her eyes for a moment, trying to settle her thoughts. She took a deep breath, held it for a heartbeat, and breathed out slowly. She knew Dante could see her perfectly in the dark, his night-vision was better than infrared, and for a moment that fact disturbed her. Some primitive part of her mind that ran on fight or flight demanded that she get some space between her and the predator next to her, but the feeling lessened as she woke up further. Dante was a threat, yes, but never a threat to her. Lady took another breath and this time it barely hurt. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for waking me though. That dream was getting weird.”

 

Dante cleared his throat in a way that sounded like he knew exactly what she’d been dreaming about. He could probably smell her arousal, even. “Yeah, okay.” He rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

Lady shuffled back down into the bed, fighting the urge to pull the sheets and blanket up to her throat. “What time is it?”

 

“Around ten past three. You going back to sleep? We can leave a light on, if you want.”

 

Lady turned to face Dante, though she couldn’t make out his features in the dusky room. “I’m not afraid of the dark, Dante.” She paused, considering her next words. “You didn’t… sense anything demonic, did you? While I slept?”

 

Dante stifled a yawn. “Nothing at all, babe. Go back to sleep.”

 

“Nothing…” Lady murmured, more to herself than Dante. _Just a dream then. This time._ “You might as well go to sleep too.”

 

*

 

Dante didn’t mean to actually fall asleep. He’d closed his eyes briefly to humour Lady, fully intending to stay awake and watch over her for the rest of the night. Her breath had hitched a few times while she slept, startling him each time. And then when she’d exhaled slowly, wistfully, and not inhaled again immediately after, well, that had been concerning. Nothing demonic, but he’d wished fervently at that moment he’d taken her to the hospital. She’d never forgive him if he called an ambulance, but honestly, a line had to be drawn somewhere.

 

He’d closed his eyes, listening for her breathing, trusting his more esoteric senses to alert him to any issues before they occurred. And then he’d drifted off, quite idiotically, given that just now he’d been jolted awake, skin crawling, with Lady standing over him.

 

Dante suppressed a flinch and steadied himself, letting his night-vision take in the scene. _Well, this is… troubling._ Lady had never sleepwalked during the months they’d shared a bed, and she’d never mentioned any sleep disturbances. Now, she stood at the bed beside him, eyes closed, head tilted forward, arms at her sides. A quick glance confirmed that she was actually standing on the floor ( _and not hovering like some weird exorcist bullshit_ ), which was a definite plus in Dante’s books. He stayed where he was, stretched out on the sheets, uncertain of the best course of action. _Try to wake her up, or just wait and see?_

 

Before he could decide, Lady turned towards the window, her head tilted and wobbling on her neck like a drunken marionette. She paced away from the bed, her feet dragging along the floor with each step. Dante watched, mildly unsettled. He couldn’t sense anything demonic in the room with them; as far as he could tell, and he _was_ looking now, they were alone. _But this is just… not right…_ Dante rolled off the bed and onto his feet, pausing to turn on the lamp.

 

Lady did not acknowledge the light. She lifted her arm, hand dangling senselessly, and smacked it against the panes of glass.

 

“Okay, that’s definitely enough of that,” Dante stepped up behind Lady and gently gripped her elbow. “Time to wake up, before you hurt yourself.”

 

Lady gave no sign that she’d heard him at all, so Dante pulled her away from the window, ready to catch her if she stumbled. She didn’t resist as he carefully walked her to the bed and sat her down. She seemed deeply asleep, even when he shook her shoulder. Her head lolled as though she was determined to gaze outside, though her eyes remained softly closed.

 

“What are you trying to look at, anyway?” Dante left her seated on the bed and headed back to the window. There wasn’t much to see; the same rundown brick buildings filled this block and the next. In a nearby alley, a cat yowled and hissed. In the distance, a siren faded as it travelled further away. The silhouette of the cityscape blocked the horizon, the night’s stars invisible in the light pollution.

 

Dante knew what he was facing though. He could feel it, even if he couldn’t see it, even if the tower’s crumbled ruins were now enclosed by a multitude of skyscrapers, and crushed under a sea of urban renewal projects. The tower still stood in a sense, inverted, plunging deep into the city’s core. With just the slightest mental outreach on his part, it sang along his senses, calling to him. He was never lost in this city, and not just because he’d lived here for years. The tower was like a damned compass-point, a homing-beacon sitting in his head, waiting for him to acknowledge just how useful it could be.

 

“Well, shit. Please tell me you’re not dreaming of the Temen-ni-Gru.” Dante turned to glance at Lady and startled backwards, rattling the panes of glass.

 

Lady stood as before, sound asleep, but now just behind him. He hadn’t heard her move at all.

 

*

 

Someone held her by the shoulders and shook her, and Lady startled awake, ready for a fight. She broke the hold instinctively and nearly fell over, Dante managing to catch her before she connected with the floor.

 

“What the hell?” Lady had stopped struggling as soon as she’d realized that it was Dante near her, and no one else. The room was lit by the single remaining lamp, and glancing out the window she could see the beginning of the dawn approaching. Dante followed her gaze, his eyes narrowed.

 

“Do you sleepwalk?” He asked abruptly, his grip on her upper arms uncomfortably tight.

 

“No.” Lady steadied herself on her feet, centering her balance with a fighter’s long practice. “Why am I out of bed?”

 

“’Cause you fuckin’ got up and went for a walk,” Dante snarled, fingers tightening to the point where Lady knew she’d bruise. She began to pry his hands away with her own, but when Dante noticed he released her with a mumbled apology.

 

“Sorry babe, but it was creepy as fuck.”

 

“Well, that seems to be an accurate assessment of my life at present,” Lady sighed, turning to seat herself on the bed. She was still tired, but the strung-out feeling of exhaustion was gone, and it no longer hurt to breathe as badly. She could think clearly again; the haze that had dulled her thoughts since the incident at the pool had dissipated. She rubbed at her sore arms and shoulders and Dante flinched.

 

“Lady, I-”

 

“It’s fine, Dante. Just tell me what happened.” She rolled her head to stretch her aching neck, noticing that he watched her with a strange expression.

 

“I fell asleep, and woke up with you standing over me. Then you shuffled over to the window and started hitting the glass. I sat you back down on the bed but you’d just get up again. We’ve been through a few rounds of it now, but I finally got you to wake up. Any ideas? Were you dreaming?” Dante sat down beside her on the blankets, the bed creaking under his weight.

 

“No, just asleep I guess. I had weird dreams earlier, but nothing I can remember this time. And why would I head for the window? If I’d wanted outside, I would’ve just gone.”

 

“You seemed to be fixated on something out there,” Dante mused. “I thought for a second…” He trailed off.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s stupid. But I thought you were focusing on the tower. It’s in the direction your window faces.” Dante, for once, sounded unsure of himself.

 

“C’mon Dante, the tower’s gone. The whole thing’s back underground, probably in ruins. And isn’t the city supposed to be building some sort of memorial park there?” Lady spoke lightly, but it sounded forced even to her. Thinking of the tower brought back the sensation of sharp teeth on her throat, and she shivered before she could stop herself.

 

“Yeah, I just thought… Well. You’re worried about something being after you. And I don’t know what the hell happened at the pool yesterday but both you and the clerk were looking pretty freaked when I got there. I still don’t sense anything demonic, but if you were homing in on the tower, that’s concerning.” He touched Lady’s arm lightly, bruises matching his fingertips already darkening on her pale skin. “Sorry,” he muttered again. “You managed to sneak up on me after the first time I sat you back down. No one’s ever done that before.”

 

“Well, that is strange.” Lady raked her fingers through her hair, trying to tease out a few tangles. Now that she was more awake, she began cataloging all the things that needed doing. The attack at the gym had left her feeling vulnerable, and that, for Lady, was enraging. A rasping cough escaped her throat, and she wondered her odds of catching pneumonia from her time under water.

 

“Are you feeling better? You mentioned something about drowning last night, but at that point you seemed pretty delirious…” Dante paused again, choosing his words. “I’ll stay here today, if you want to try to get more sleep.”

 

“No, I should go to the gym and see if there’re any security cameras there. And I need to check on Margarita, see how she’s holding up.” Lady stretched and yawned. “But another hour wouldn’t hurt.” She pulled back the sheets and got into the bed, turning to find Dante watching her. “And you didn’t get much sleep, did you?” She tugged away the blankets on his side of the bed.

 

“I don’t need much,” Dante shrugged. “It’s more of a habit than anything else.” He crawled in beside her though, his expression hesitant, like he expected to be thrown out at any moment.

 

Lady turned onto her side, facing away from him, feeling him settle beside her. Close, but not touching at all. She wondered how much she hurt him by doing this, and if letting him nearer would make things between them better or worse. He’d never failed to protect her, but that had never been what she’d wanted from him. _Until now,_ she thought darkly.

 

She heard Dante’s breathing even out behind her, slow and steady, and almost laughed at how fast he’d fallen asleep. _Habit. Sure._ Months ago, if they’d shared a bed, they would’ve been all over each other. She’d wake up every morning wrapped securely in his arms, his lips pressed to her throat. They’d needed each other with an urgency that was all-encompassing, she wouldn’t deny that. It had been like being on fire. _And I was shell-shocked. We both were. All we could do was stagger around and cling to the one other person who’d survived the same hell. It would’ve been the same for anyone, right?_

 

Dante shifted in his sleep, and shuffled closer, pressed against her. Carefully, she eased away, just so that they no longer touched. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him, not at all. At times her affection for him frightened her in its intensity. She valued his abilities even if they didn’t share the same motivations, and she’d grown to respect him, no matter how irritating he could be. But she hadn’t been able to trust the depth of feeling she had for him. It could’ve just been the adrenaline and the nightmares keeping them together. She’d needed to step back and figure it out, and it was difficult to have any perspective on a situation while you were trapped within it. And rather than ask Dante for space that she knew him incapable of giving, she’d packed her few belongings and left without a word.

 

_He called me a bitch for that, and he was right. But things are better for us when we’re apart. We’re almost functioning normally, now. If I’d stayed we’d still be sleeping in abandoned warehouses and burned-out cars three nights a week, or sharing a post-hunt bath in a tub filled more with blood than water. Things were just getting more and more insane. This was the only way we could get better._ Lady exhaled slowly, hearing a bit of a wheeze in her chest. Behind her, Dante slung an arm over her side and pulled her to him. _And I’m not sure I’m ready to try it again._

 

Lady pushed Dante’s arm away and turned to face him, startled to find his frosted-blue eyes staring at her. He studied her face, started to reach for her and stopped himself.

 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.

 

“Us and the bad times,” Lady answered, just as quietly. “How out of control we were.”

 

“Thought those were the good times, babe.”

 

“That’s part of the problem, right there.”

 

“Is that why you stay away so much?” There were echoes of hurt in his voice that he’d never admit to, and Lady felt her heart clench involuntarily. _Demonic attacks or no, I shouldn’t have asked him to stay. It just makes things worse._

 

“Dante, I…” Lady couldn’t finish, fearing that anything she said would be a lie. Instead she touched his face, tracing his cheekbone gently with her thumb. He caught her hand in his own. If it’d been like old times, he would have kissed her, or she him, and they would’ve spent the morning having slow, sleepy sex. _The good times. Right. And then we’d climb out of whatever abandoned swimming pool we’d slept in and spend the day following scraps of child-flesh to find the next nest of demons._  

 

“Never mind,” he smiled bitterly. “It’s fine, I know you don’t explain yourself.”

 

“Dante,” Lady hesitated again, realizing that some wounds were still as raw between them now as they’d been months ago. She sat up, freeing her hand, casting about for something to say that would make things, if not alright, then at least bearable.

 

Dante slid out of bed as though nothing had happened. “C’mon,” he held out his hand. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated. :)


	6. Fear is the heart of love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for demonic assault, sexual weirdness, and extremely graphic descriptions of past violence. The tenses in the second part might be a bit off. I wanted background info to lead into the present, and I’m not quite sure if it works. Lyrics are from “I Will Follow You into the Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie.

_I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black_  
_I held my tongue, as she told me “Son, fear is the heart of love,”  
_ _So I never went back…_

 

Dante was being quite optimistic about breakfast, Lady mused. She rummaged through her fridge for edible items while he showered, figuring that Dante wouldn’t be too fussy because he mostly lived off pizza anyway. She found a package of bacon that she’d thrown in the freezer and forgotten, a carton of eggs that had only expired two days ago, and a few dubious looking oranges. Any hope of toast was a lost cause, judging by the mournful looking bread, but she’d managed to get the coffee started by the time Dante returned.

 

He was dressed in yesterday’s clothes, his ivory hair damp and falling into his eyes. He moved into the kitchen carefully, as though he was hyperaware of being in her space. Dante settled himself by the coffeepot, slouching against the counter as though he knew he was too tall for the room but trying to belong in it anyway. He feigned a yawn and studied her from beneath his bangs, ostensibly perturbed. He reminded Lady of a cat that had had its tail pulled and was getting ready to swat something.

 

“Well, I found the ingredients, so you can cook while I shower. We can have breakfast and then check on Margarita,” she announced, determined to show that they’d known each other too long and too intimately for their current state of affairs to be awkward. It wasn’t true, but it was the best she could do right now. She was going to hold it together, even if it killed her.

 

“Hey,” Dante raised his hands in protest, the tension leaving him so suddenly she wasn’t sure it had ever been there. He grinned at her, seeming his old self again, or at least willing to play along. “That’s not fair. We both know I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

 

“We both know that’s a lie. And I’ve even set out the pans for you. It’s called teamwork, Dante. You’ll be fine. Don’t break anything.”

 

“Since when have I ever broken anything?” he retorted teasingly, coaxing a genuine smile from her. She definitely felt better this morning, only slightly woozy.

 

“Don’t make a mess, either,” Lady added, ignoring Dante’s fake offended huff. She started to head for the bathroom and then paused. “And thanks,” she offered, forcing herself to meet Dante’s pale eyes. “For staying. I know it was weird, and-”

 

Dante’s expression turned unreadable for a second, but he recovered just as quickly. He lifted a frying pan and waved her away before she could finish. “It’s fine, Lady. Don’t worry about it. I’ve lived through stranger things than you sleepwalking like a creeper.” He looked as though his words had come out harsher than he’d intended. His misinterpretation seemed deliberate, but Lady let it go. She nodded and went to fetch a towel.

 

The bathroom was still steamy from Dante’s shower, but that was no surprise. The fan only worked half the time, and she’d never known Dante to use warm water when scalding hot was available. She figured it was a remnant of his past on the streets, before they’d met, where it’d be cold showers or nothing. Lady closed the door and started to lock it, then changed her mind and left it opened a bit. _You’re nervous. Even with Dante here you’re nervous. You even made Dante nervous, with all your Exorcist-style sleepwalking bullshit._

Lady tugged off her t-shirt and panties and stretched in front of the mirror. She looked tired, but the only bruises on her were the ones Dante had left accidentally. She rubbed at them, frowning. _Are you worried that Dante still doesn’t believe you? Even with the sleepwalking? He says he doesn’t sense anything, meaning what? That’s it’s nothing? That it’s all in my head?_

 

She sighed and stepped into the shower, finding that Dante had, in fact, left her some hot water. She tried to relax as much as she could, taking the time to condition her hair in an attempt to save it from the chlorine in the pool. She bent to replace the bottle and froze in place when she noticed handprints on the fogged glass. _They’re probably just Dante’s, you idiot._ Lady wiped them away and rinsed her hair. A moment later, sharp teeth brushed over her throat.

 

She flinched before she could stop herself, then forced herself to remain still. The sensation was gone just as suddenly, and Lady gingerly touched her throat. She glanced at her fingers, relieved that they hadn’t come away red. _Alright, that’s enough of this_. She moved to open the shower door, debating whether to yell for Dante. _Maybe you just imagined it, like some sort of traumatic flashback._ Lady waited, exhaling slowly to calm her heart, silently counting to ten. The water cascading from the shower began to cool as her aging water-heater failed to keep up with the demands of two people. She counted again. _See? Nothing. Just your imagination, this time._

 

Something smashed her into the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of her. Lady felt tile crack against the back of her head and gulped for air. She barely managed to keep her balance, feet slipping in soapsuds, and reached for the door again. The presence pressed warmly against her breasts and belly, pinning her against the wall. The weight was suffocating, amorphous at first, but then differentiating into component parts. A tongue dragged heavily over her collarbone, and disgust curled in her stomach. Lady cringed as talons ran a sinuous trail down her sides, their threat implicit. She nearly gagged as the claws skimmed over her thighs, applying just enough pressure that she could sense their sharpness.

 

She could feel it breathing on her, its manifestation growing strong enough that the water from the shower fell around it as though it had a physical form. Lady gasped for breath again, trying to force her arms up to defend herself. Her feet slipped, and only the presence held her upright, hard across her chest and then sliding between her parted thighs. Lady thrashed with strength born of rage, and screamed as teeth sank into her shoulder.

 

Dante crashed through the bathroom door a second later, wrenching open the shower glass and reaching for her. The force pinning her against the wall vanished instantly, and Lady stumbled forward into Dante’s arms, her shoulder throbbing. He steadied her against him, gently guiding her free of the shower. Lady had the distinct impression that he would’ve picked her up if he thought she’d allow it. As it was, she leaned on him a moment longer than she wanted to, making sure she had her balance back before she stepped away. Dante handed her a towel and she wrapped it around herself.

 

“What the hell, Lady?” he blurted. “Did you fall?” He leaned down and turned off the taps, watching her warily.

 

“No, it was here, just now, in the shower,” she gasped, rubbing at her shoulder and hating how breathless she sounded. “The fucker bit me.”

 

“Bit you?” Dante’s eyes narrowed. “But…” his voice trailed off. Lady followed his gaze to her hurting shoulder, expecting to see blood trickling down her body. It had certainly felt like the sharp teeth had gouged into her flesh. Instead, her pale skin was unmarked, its smoothness broken only by old scars, long since healed.

 

“Fuck,” she breathed, reaching to touch where her head had connected with the wall. Dante followed her movement.

 

“You hit your head? The tile’s cracked.”

 

“It threw me against the wall,” Lady muttered, wincing.

 

“I heard something from the kitchen. I thought maybe you’d slipped and fell. I was almost here when you screamed.” Dante paused, eyeing her up and down. His clothes were soaked where he’d held her. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.” Lady rolled her shoulder, still slightly amazed that the bones didn’t grind brokenly with the movement. She watched as Dante scanned the room, his gaze going unfocused as he guided his senses outward, searching for evidence of the demonic. It was easy for her to read his expression. He hadn’t found anything.

 

“It left as soon as you showed up.” _And that sounds convenient, even to me._ Lady began to dry herself off carefully, studying the floor. She shivered at the remembered touch and her stomach heaved. She barely managed to keep from retching, clenching her hands into fists and taking a deep breath to steady herself. _I’ll kill the fucker whether anyone else believes me or not_. 

 

“Yeah?” Dante was peering into the shower stall now, prodding at the cracked tile. A piece of the ceramic fell away in his hands. “Looks like you hit it pretty hard.”

 

“Story of my life,” Lady sighed. She wrapped the towel around her more securely and leaned against the sink. Dante dropped the fragment of tile into her palm, his eyes worried. He looked like he wanted to kiss her. Lady turned her face away.

 

*

 

The girl was dead.

 

Lady had guessed as much even before they found the body. The sheer amount of blood spatter on the walls and ceiling, not to mention the sodden red carpet, meant that no one could have survived. Dante had probably known the instant they’d stepped into the little house, though he hadn’t said as much to her. They’d knocked at the front door, and when that went unanswered, she’d jimmied the lock at the back. Just over the threshold she heard him inhale sharply, involuntarily; the meaty, iron stench of fresh blood catching in his throat and turning his eyes crimson.

 

She waited, double-checking the clip in her Jericho 941, scanning the room as he gathered himself. Her eyes drifted over the smashed table; broken bits of good Polish teacups scattered over the floor. Dishes rested in a sink full of soapy water. The tap dripped loudly. At her side, Dante huffed and wiped excess saliva away from his mouth. He swallowed and licked his lips, but when he looked at her again, his eyes were blue.  

 

The blood started in the hallway. Just a few drops at first, but then a handprint smeared along the wall. Next was a clump of long hair with a piece of scalp attached. Dante stepped in front of her at that point, shouldering past her with Ivory drawn, and she let him go. He glanced into every room off the hallway as he passed, but it was clear, even then, where he was headed. Dread pooled in her stomach, settled there and refused to leave.

 

It was like the day she’d come home from school, and her mother wasn’t at the door to greet her. She’d wandered through the house and found every room empty; no one in the kitchen, no one in the library. Nothing but a big, silent, vacant house, filled with furniture and belongings (and nothing out of place) but no people. And then she’d wandered down to check the basement, because she’d been meticulous even then, and Arkham had…

 

“Lady?” Dante called softly, his tone apologetic. She snapped back to reality, knowing that the reminiscing could’ve killed her, and strode further into the house. Dante was in the living room, with what was left of Margarita. The girl had been flayed. Alive, if she’d read the spatter correctly, or maybe tossed around afterwards, the way a dog might shake a rabbit.

 

“Shit,” she breathed. Years of desensitization to gore kept her from puking, but only barely. She stared at the body, so tiny, especially without its skin, and maybe she looked slightly faint because Dante took her elbow. “Oh, Margarita,” she whispered, and Dante stepped even closer. The girl was dead, and it was her fault.

 

“Poor kid,” Dante agreed after a minute, starting to draw her away. “But whatever did this is gone now, and we need to go, too.” Lady thought maybe the blood scent, thick in the air, was getting to him. She couldn’t bring herself to leave. Margarita had saved her life, without hesitation and without reward. The girl had stayed with her, through a terrifying experience, and hadn’t faltered or run away. _She was a witness, of sorts. The only one._

 

“She was so brave,” Lady murmured, hating the thought that, brave or not, the girl probably hadn’t died well. She stepped away from Dante and tried to look around the room, searching for clues. It was pointless. Her eyes always came back to the hideous twist of blood and bone in the center of the floor, and the looping strips of skin that peeled away from the body. The jaws of the skull hung open, teeth broken, the tongue ripped out by the roots. “We can’t just leave her like this. What if she has family? This will break their hearts.” Her own sentiment surprised her. Lady wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed. 

 

“We need to get out of here, before someone comes by and we get charged with murder,” Dante said, looking like he wanted to bodily pull her from the room. “C’mon, there’s nothing here now. I mean, it certainly looks like a demonic attack, but I can’t sense anything, so…”

 

“So maybe it’s standing in your blind spot, Dante. There’s no way this was just a random attack. This thing is after me, it’s messing with me in my sleep, in my home, anywhere it wants. I can’t sense demons like you do, but I do know when something’s stalking me. Margarita saved my life yesterday. She pulled me out of the pool, she saw I was scratched up, she witnessed paranormal phenomena when I was attacked again in the changing room afterwards, and-” Lady paused in her rant, not wanting to reveal more than she’d already told him. She wasn’t quite sure why she did it, but it wasn’t anything personal. There were just limits to her trust in everyone, Dante included.

 

“Attacked again? What do you mean?” Dante demanded, backing off a bit when he saw her expression. He ran his fingers through his ivory hair, looking exasperated. “Never mind, then. Let’s go. We’ll turn on the gas on our way out; put some paper in the toaster to spark.”

 

Lady shook her head, feeling numbed. “The neighbouring houses are too close, I think. We’ll have to check first. And we need to search every room here. She was young, but for all we know, she might have had a kid, or a puppy, or something.”

 

Dante took her arm again, and Lady realized she was swaying on her feet. She brushed his hands away, heading back to the hallway. Dante padded softly after her. The house wasn’t large, and it took only a minute to check the bathroom and the two bedrooms, one of which was clearly a guest room. There were no signs of a spouse or children or pets; it seemed that Margarita had lived much like Lady did.

 

“So, what’s the alternative? Call the police? Because someone will, eventually.” Dante’s eyes flickered crimson for a moment as he spoke, and he turned away, shaking his head to clear it. Lady walked back into the kitchen where they’d entered, careful not to touch anything even though she wore gloves.

 

“What’s going on with you?” she asked, concerned. It was bad enough that her life was becoming a nightmare; she didn’t need Dante acting strange added to her list of issues. If she could be attacked, even with Dante nearby, she wanted him in his right mind. _Right, because he already thinks I’m going crazy._

 

“Nothing, Lady, it’s just the blood,” Dante snapped, then immediately looked remorseful. He wiped his face with one gloved palm. “Are you done looking around?” He asked, his voice slightly softer.

 

“No, look, we didn’t check this door. Must be the cellar.” She yanked the door open and stepped through, fumbling for a light-switch and heading down the narrow steps without waiting for Dante. The lights didn’t help much, flickering erratically as Lady descended. Like most houses in the area, this one’s basement had a dirt floor with concrete walls. It smelled damp and earthy, like dead leaves. Lady was three steps from the bottom when the door behind her slammed shut. The lightbulbs flared for an instant, then popped, one by one, in their sockets.

 

“Dante!” she yelled, reaching for her gun and a flashlight. Lady turned and headed back up the steps, scanning with her light as much as she could. Above her, muffled like she was hearing it from underwater, Dante hit the door and shouted her name. The door should’ve splintered easily under Dante’s fist, but it hadn’t budged. Lady clipped her light to her gun and grabbed the door handle with her free hand, pulling with all her strength. It might have encased in cement, for all that she could move it. _Okay then, a new plan. Look for another door._

 

Dante struck the door again, and said something she couldn’t make out. Figuring she wasn’t going to get any help from him for the moment, Lady started down the steps again, the Jericho held steady in front of her. Other than the door and the burst lightbulbs, nothing seemed out of place. She paused halfway down to listen, thinking Dante had said something else, and felt a puff of air across her cheek. Lady froze, and it happened again. Breathing. _Fuck._

 

She angled the Jericho slightly and squeezed off a round, not at all surprised when the bullet passed through where she’d supposed the demon to be, and embedded uselessly in the wall. The breathing continued but seemed to move further from her, and now she could hear it as well, a guttural rasp at each exhalation.

 

“C’mon you fucker, I know what you did,” Lady hissed, practically trembling with adrenaline and rage. Moving slowly, she took another step. Mentally, she ran through a list of all the ammunition she carried, wondering if there was anything that would hurt this thing. _Salt. Silver. Mercury. Lead dipped in holy water?_ Another step, and behind her, still muted, Dante yelled again. Lady stopped to listen, realizing she could no longer hear the breathing.

 

She was knocked off her feet so fast she scarcely knew what happened, her back colliding painfully with the steps. Lady just missed knocking herself senseless against the edges of the stairs, and was still conscious as she was dragged down them. The Jericho was knocked from her hand, skittering across the dirt floor and taking her only light with it. She thrashed, but the creature had a hold of both her feet and pulled her lower. Lady grabbed blindly at the railing as she reached the last step, connecting for a second before she was wrenched away. She flailed into the darkness, and was dragged savagely out onto the dirt, coming to rest in what seemed like the middle of the cellar.

 

“You filthy fucker,” she snarled, snatching the bowie knife from her boot and rolling to her feet. Her skin prickled in warning just as a breath of air grazed the back of her neck. The monster growled softly, right against her ear. It almost sounded like a word.

 

“Mary.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated. :)


End file.
